by Lynne, Donya
His stomach was a nauseated, empty pit, but food was the last thing he wanted. The ache in his chest and the erection in his nylon sweats begged for only one thing, but Malek refused to relent. He would beat Gina out of his thoughts—and his body— if it killed him.
He took aim at the next heavy bag, ready to send another one to its demise, and attacked. Fists, legs, elbows, forearms. Malek used his whole body, unloading a physical onslaught that would have killed the Incredible Hulk from the sheer intensity alone.
You're an idiot. You'll never learn.
I thought I told you to fuck off.
And I thought I told you that you'll never get rid of me as long as you're behaving like a fool.
Well, then I hope you're ready to be disappointed.
It won't be me who's disappointed, pal.
I'm not your pal.
"You look like hell."
Malek spun midpunch, striking air. Micah stood in the doorway. What was that look on his face? Dismay? Confusion? Horror?
"Fuck off." Malek turned away. His shoulder-length hair clung like soaked, black ribbons to his face and neck.
"Nope, not gonna happen." Micah took a step in. "And I'd suggest you quit ignoring the other words in the English language. Hearing you tell me to fuck off every time I see you is getting old."
Malek glared over his shoulder at him. "Go fuck yourself. How 'bout that? Better?"
Micah shook his head and took a heavy breath. "When's the last time you ate, Malek? Huh? Or when you even slept?"
"That's my business."
"It'll be my business if you get yourself killed or jeopardize the team."
Malek waved him off then shot him the bird. "Not. Interested. And what team? There's just three of us, or haven't you noticed?"
"Four."
He popped his fist against the bag and scowled at Micah. "Four?"
"Lakota is joining us as of tonight."
Lakota. The bastard who had fucked Gina and tried to kill her. "Keep him away from me."
"Yeah, I thought you'd like that?"
"Oh? And why's that?"
Micah sneered in disgust and shook his head as if he held all the answers and thought Malek too dumb to figure them out. "You tell me, buddy. You're the one with the Gina fixation you keep denying, and Lakota did take her for a good fuck or two. That's not something that would bother her mate. Noooo, not at all. And I think deep down you know that." He tapped his temple knowingly.
See, even Micah knows the truth, asshole. The Voice just didn't know when to shut up.
Malek spun on Micah like a vicious lion and hissed, his fangs distended and his vision sharp as crystal. When he spoke, he sounded possessed. "Do not speak of her like that. She is mine and you will honor her!"
Only after he spoke—spurred by the immediacy of the moment—did he become aware of what he said. If he had been angry before, that was nothing compared to how he felt now.
And the Voice's cocky, in-your-face laughter inside his head only pissed him off as much as Micah's self-assured grin and knowing nod.
"Asshole! You tricked me!" He went for Micah. He would not be manipulated.
* * *
Micah dropped into a defensive stance as Malek flew at him. He had wanted to provoke Malek, but it looked like he had set off a cluster bomb inside the guy's head instead. Malek's reaction wasn't a surprise by any stretch, but his ferocious demeanor clearly was. The guy was pure rage, all reaction, no thought.
Micah ducked to narrowly avoid a fist to the throat and spun in time to catch the backhand coming for his head.
"Accept it," Micah said between clenched teeth. "She's your mate." He punctuated the statement with the butt of his hand as he thumped Malek's sternum with the force of a charging rhino. Malek tumbled backward into the wall.
But Malek wasn't done and shot toward him again, and this time he connected. His fist cracked against Micah's jaw. "NO!"
"Asshole!" Micah blocked the next swing and countered with one of his own, splitting Malek's cheek open. Blood flowed down the side of his sweat-soaked face and neck.
The two traded punches, kicked and shoved, rolled around on the floor, and jumped back up to go at it again until finally Micah had enough. This shit was going to stop right fucking now. With a maneuver that would have made Jackie Chan proud, he shoved Malek's arms behind his back, braced them with his fists, and bit halfway into the front of Malek's throat. His fangs dripped venom from their supercharged physical exchange.
Both growled low and deep, a deadly vibration of sound that stretched as the two postured for dominance. But Malek could growl all he wanted. Micah's bite was a potent message about who was in charge. A message that said loud and clear to Malek that if he didn't stop—and stop now—Micah would rip his throat out.
Malek froze, his head thrown back, and for several tense seconds, neither budged except to gulp in oxygen and growl at one another, both heavily exerted. Blood and venom mixed and trickled down Malek's neck until, finally, Micah bit down hard enough for his fangs to sink all the way in, and then quickly withdrew them and jerked himself away as he gave Malek a harsh shove.
Malek's hand shot to his throat, over the twin punctures that wouldn't heal like a normal bite, because Micah hadn't injected his venom deep enough to heal the wound. Micah wanted everyone to see the rank he had just pulled on Malek, to teach him and everyone else that his leadership was not to be tested.
"Get your head out of your ass, Malek." Micah pushed his sweat-dampened hair off his face, breathing heavily. "I've had enough of your shit."
Malek scowled back at him. His blood seeped through his fingers.
Micah felt as helpless as a worm in the middle of a busy street. This was Malek, who used to be his best friend. The two had been inseparable from the moment they met eons ago, and now Micah's heart was breaking. He didn't want to lose Malek, but he couldn't reach him, anymore. Malek was slipping further and further away, and all Micah could do was watch…and hurt. They might not be as close as they once were, but Malek was his brother. His goddamn brother! Micah had never stopped believing that, even though they came from separate bloodlines.
"Claim her and come back to me, brother," he said quietly. And with that, Micah wiped his mouth, turned, and headed toward the door.
"Just leave me alone, Micah. Leave me alone."
Micah stopped at the uncharacteristically soft timbre of Malek's voice, but he didn't turn around. "I can't."
"Why not?" This time, Malek's words held an edge of bite.
Micah looked at the floor. "Because I love you too much to stand by and do nothing while I watch you destroy yourself. Every day, the grave you're digging gets a little deeper, and every day I fear will be the one where I have to lower your lifeless body into that grave and bury you. And I…" Micah stopped and swallowed his emotion. "I refuse to do that, Malek. I refuse to let you die." He turned and fixed Malek with eyes that burned with unshed tears. "I refuse to let you die, do you hear me? I am willing you to live, and I will deplete every ounce of my will until either I win, or…" He frowned and had to fight to keep his tears from falling. "Or until you do."
* * *
Malek stood rooted in place as Micah turned and left the room.
Or until you do.
He glanced into the mirror. A half-starved, sweat-drenched, bleeding-at-the-neck apparition stared back. A specter that looked eerily similar to him, but appeared alien.
What had just happened here between him and Micah? Well, for starters, Micah had clearly been pissed off. Enough to pull rank and imprint him with a physical mark to show everyone where he stood in the pecking order. Biting him like that was the equivalent of telling him to drop and give him fifty…in the pouring rain…with his face in the mud…and a fifty-pound pack on his back. Micah was the sergeant, and Malek was the grunt soldier. And now everyone would know it.
He dabbed his fingers at the punctures on his neck. They should have begun healing by now, even without Micah's venom. B
ut instead, the wounds continued to weep crimson tears down to his chest, staining his white tank top.
His body's systems were deteriorating, which wasn't a good sign, and after his scuffle with Micah, at least he was aware enough to figure that out.
But he didn't know what to do to pull himself to the surface to stop from drowning. His shit needed fixed, but even though the answer seemed so easy to Micah, it wasn't as easy for Malek. Every part of him wanted Gina, but every part of him also wanted to repel her and stay attached to Carmen, and that was the side he wanted to remain faithful to. With Gina gone, it was easier to claim he didn't need her.
Yeah, but you could go find Gina. It wouldn't be that hard to do, you know.
You're back? Malek glared at his reflection.
I never left. His reflection glared back, and that just pissed Malek off. How dare he look at him that way.
Lucky me. Malek scowled and trudged across the room and grabbed a bottle of water from his bag. His wary gaze flicked back to his reflection. He needed to keep an eye on that guy in the mirror. What if he tried to jump him when he wasn't looking?
The Voice laughed inside his head.
What's so funny? Malek glared at the mirror.
You. Do you really think I'm capable of jumping you?
Definitely. You look stupid enough to try it. He took a drink.
Funny, but the guy in the mirror took a drink, too.
Laughter rang through his mind.
Are you mocking me, asshole? Malek glowered and took a menacing step toward the mirror. The guy took a step toward him, too. You want some of this? Malek seethed at the image that glared back at him.
More laughter.You're a dumbass, the Voice said.
Oh yeah?
Yeah.
How do you figure?
Because I'myou,asshole.
"No you're not," Malek said aloud, taking a wary step back.
Oh yeah, buddy. I sure am.
Malek backed away from the mirror, and his hand tightened around the bottle of water. What was going on here? Shit. Was he so far gone that he no longer understood fantasy from illusion? An ache shot from his chest to his balls, and he doubled over as the male in the mirror did likewise.
Damn! It was true.
"No." He gasped as his scrotum tightened painfully. He had been walking around with a hard-on for days, and now it felt like a major case of blue balls was getting good and comfortable down there.
More laughter ranged through his mind and he clamped his fists over his ears, the bottle of water punching against the side of his head.
That's right, pal, you and I are stuck together, and you'd better hope I stick around a good long time.
Malek cringed and fell to his knees. Why's that?
Because the minute I leave is the minute you go six feet under, big guy.
* * *
Micah stood outside the training center, his back against the wall. His chest ached as he grimaced and heard every thought hammering through Malek's head. Malek was getting worse. At least before, he knew at some level that he and the voice inside his head were one and the same and acknowledged how crazy it was that he was talking to himself. But now? Now he saw The Voice as an outsider, not part of him.
If Malek survived the next twenty-four hours, it would be a miracle. Because all the will in the world couldn't save him, anymore. Malek was a dead man walking.
CHAPTER 9
Jacob pressed the intercom button for Brak's quarters in the basement. "Cynthia, is he back yet?"
Brak had been gone for over an hour. Something was wrong.
"No. He's still out-of-body," Cynthia's voice answered.
"Shit." Haslet shoved himself off the wall he'd been leaning against on outstretched arms.
"Hold it together, Haslet. We've got to get out of here." Jacob shoved more clothes in his duffel. This was no time to fall apart. They needed to keep their wits about them, pack up, and get out. And then burn the place down so that Brak's body went up in flames. That was the only way to guarantee their safety if Brak had figured out they had sold Maddox and could no longer hold him over Brak's head.
"He knows. I can feel it." Haslet paced and cursed under his breath.
"Shut up."
"Fuck you, Jacob! We have nothing to hold over him anymore." Haslet marched to the door. "I'm calling Bishop."
"Why?" Jacob zipped his duffel and dropped it on the floor.
"It's the only bargaining chip we've got."
He grabbed Haslet by the arms and shoved him against the wall. "No. We leave. We burn the place down and we escape. It's the only way to be sure."
Haslet shoved Jacob off of him. "I'm not willing to throw all this away, Jacob. We worked too hard. Brak doesn't know where we are. We've never given him anything of ours to enable him to find us. You know he needs a marker or some kind of totem before he can hunt someone down."
"Oh? And what do you think he's doing, Haslet? Taking a stroll through the park? No. He's looking for us."
"You don't know that." Haslet spun on his heel and started for the stairs. "Get a grip, Jacob. He can't stay gone forever. Sooner or later he'll need to return to his body, or he'll die. I'm calling Bishop. Let me see if I can work out an arrangement with him."
What Haslet said made sense, but it didn't ease Jacob's mind. He had a bad feeling about this.
* * *
Cynthia swept her gaze from Brak's head to his feet and back up again. Hope lit in her heart. Had he found a way out? Was he coming for the evil ones? Her mother, Brak's previous caretaker and a mystic, had foreseen this. When Brak leaves and does not return, give him the keys to freedom, she had said. He will be able to free himself, and you with him. Then she had given Cynthia two coins and nodded once, a harsh jerk of her head as if the coins were important.
She had carried those coins with her every day since, disguised as a pair of earrings. She'd had them melted down and remolded into simple, large studs, and each time she visited Brak for one of his jobs, she wore them in case that was the day to grant Brak his freedom.
Was it time? Had Brak's day for freedom finally come?
She waited another ten minutes and finally decided this was it. It was time to set Brak free.
With a smile on her face, she unfastened each earring, closed them in her loose fist, and said a quick prayer before uncurling Brak's fingers and placing the plain earrings in his palm.
She leaned forward as she closed his hand around the earrings. "Brak." She placed her hand over his and settled in close, her mouth next to his ear. "Brak. It's time. Time for your freedom."
* * *
Brak heard Cynthia's voice from what sounded like far away and realized she was talking to him.
Freedom?
Then he felt two small objects in his hand. They were small and round. Buttons? No. They were earrings.
Connecting with them, he catapulted into another traveling tunnel. He flew faster than the speed of light and crossed hundreds of miles in an instant until he landed inside a vast home in the middle of nowhere. Jacob passed in front of him, his expression worried.
From across the room, Haslet spoke on the phone. "What do you mean, you no longer have him? Where is he?"
Brak flashed to Haslet's side. Who was he talking to? And did the conversation have to do with his father?
Haslet's face paled. "Then the deal's off, Bishop. This was not part of the arrangement. You were supposed to keep Maddox—"
Bishop's voice shot through the phone, so loud Brak could hear him. "Do not tell me what I was supposed to do with something I had purchased, Haslet! I owned Maddox once you sold him to me. Do you think I like that his son found my lab and took him?"
"Of course not, but—"
"I lost my entire operation, you disgusting worm! And you dare to challenge me about your phantom's father?"
"You should have told us—"
"I owed you no explanations! I owned him."
"But we could have—"
The line went dead and Haslet slowly lowered the phone to the table, his face pale.
So, they had sold his father to a male named Bishop, huh? And this Bishop owned the lab where Trace had found him. And it sounded like Trace had worked his powers to destroy that wretched den of hell. Good for him. And now Brak would unleash a little wrath of his own.
Brak leaned toward Haslet. "You're dead, motherfucker." Brak had never been so angry, and pure hatred rushed through his normally gentle psyche.
Not bothering to be careful, Brak plunged both hands inside Haslet's body, grabbed either side of his ribcage, and pulled. Bones snapped like dry branches, and his heart and lungs ruptured as Brak smashed his hands together.
Haslet's limbs flailed briefly as his eyes flew open, and then his body fell slack and hung like wet laundry from Brak's invisible arms in a gurgling, sputtering heap.
"Oh my God!"
Brak turned to see Jacob's colorless face, his eyes so wide it was a wonder his eyeballs didn't fall out.
Let's see if I can help him with that.
Brak yanked his arms from Haslet's corpse and shot across the room as Haslet dropped to the floor. Before Jacob could flee through the front door, he closed his fist around Jacob's forearm. The vampire screamed like a terrified maiden as he recoiled and swatted his arm as if batting away wasps.
"No, please, no! I tried to stop him. I tried to tell him not to. I swear! Please don't kill me. Oh God, please!"
Brak didn't believe a word of what Jacob said. "You made me believe you had my father! You tortured us both and used me, threatening to hurt him if I didn't do as you told me to. And you don't even have him! You sold him like meat and kept me imprisoned." Rage burned Brak's soul as he shoved his right hand inside Jacob's skull and clamped down on his brain.